


Mistakes

by Adrenalineshots



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Big Damn Heroes, Gen, Gil is putting him on a leash, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Malcolm can't have a normal day, Malcolm goes shopping, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots
Summary: Whomever took one look at the sad, empty vastness of his fridge and just assumed that Malcolm did no grocery shopping, would be  incurring in a grievous misconception. Somedays, however, he really shouldn't go. Anywhere.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

Whomever took one look at the sad, empty vastness of his fridge and just assumed that Malcolm did no grocery shopping, would be incurring in a grievous misconception.

Malcolm bought food; he just didn't necessarily complied with the same food groups as the rest of the world.

For example, while his fridge lacked eggs, milk or whatever else people kept in there, his pantry was usually very well stocked on sparkling water, twizzlers and coffee. Given that the human body was essentially water and the brain fed on sugar, Malcolm figured he had the basics pretty much covered.

They had just closed a case, one that had taken them more than a month to crack and now that their perp was finally behind bars, everyone was feeling a bit homesick. Dani and JT, however, had been 'grounded' on their respective desks, trying to tame the massive beanstalk of paperwork that had sprouted on their work surface while they had been otherwise busy. Before a giant with golden eggs came stalking down the damn thing.

Malcolm, being a consultant, had _beanstalk_ immunity, having already filled his report on the closed case. So, Gil had suggested -ordered- him to go home.

For once, the profiler wasn't completely adverse to the idea. He had barely slept for more than three hours every couple of days for weeks now and he was pretty sure he was down to two more suits before he ran out of work clothes to wear.

Despite his mother insistence on sending over her housekeeper to sort out Malcolm's place, he kept on thwarting her plans by changing the locks on the loft. His independence was something that Malcolm not only cherished, but also needed in order to feel in control of his life. Which meant taking care of the small things in his life. Like doing his own laundry.

Plus, he was out of sparkling water. And he was pretty sure that the piece of cheese, lost in the back of the second drawer of the fridge, was _not_ suppose to be moldy.

So, dry cleaner and then grocery shop.

Seemed like a normal enough plan for a Saturday morning. Mother would be very proud.

Saving on his last suits, just in case Gil decided to call him in for some reason, Malcolm grabbed a simple grey sweatshirt, put on some jeans and grabbed the massive laundry bag that had slowly mutated into a beast in the corner of his bathroom. “See you in a bit, Sunshine,” he called out to the bird, who was casually walking back and forth on the kitchen island grey countertop like she was doing her morning jog. He wasn't planning on taking that long, so there was no point in trying to persuade her to return to her cage that early in the day. If he did, she would just get cranky.

After dropping the bag of dirty clothes, Malcolm crossed the street at a jog, heading straight to the small deli a few blocks from his place. Mrs Sai Chakrandra, the old lady who owned the place, was already familiar with his peculiar shopping list and refrained from judging every time he left her shop without 'normal' food in his bag. Instead, she had taken to sneaking in a bag of poori and naan bread for him to take along with his usual groceries.

“ _Namaste_ , Sai,” Malcolm called out, gathering his hands together at the tip of his chin, greeting the older woman with a small bow of his head.

The second his eyes looked up, Malcolm could feel the fine hair at the back of his neck stand to attention. Something was _off_.

At first glance there was nothing out of place. Just a regular store with its rows of neatly alined products and harsh fluorescent lights.

Sai was standing in her usual place, behind the counter, tinkering with the register as two costumers waited in line. The store was small, just two rows of shelves in the middle with a line of see through refrigerators sitting against the far wall. From where he stood, Malcolm could see that there was no one else in there. At the back, a closed door gave way to a private office and restroom, but he knew that Mr. Chakrandra only came in the afternoon, to work the books.

The profiler, however, couldn't help but register the little things, the barely tangible pieces of a puzzle he wasn't even quite sure to be real.

Things like the three oranges on the floor near the fruit stand, drooped and left to their fate, when otherwise Sai kept her store in pristine conditions.

Or the 'Open' sign at the door that had been turned the wrong way, announcing the store as being closed when it was obviously not.

The young woman, waiting in line to pay for her groceries, who was holding on to her purse like it was the only thing keeping her from falling into the metaphoric abyss under her feet. Her knuckles were stark white, shaking hard enough that he could hear her keys, rattling inside.

The man standing behind her, perhaps a few years older than Bright himself, had his hands casually inside his pockets. Even through the thick fabric, the profiler could see that he was shaking as badly as the young woman, although his nervousness seemed to be more jittery than fearful, like someone had lit a fire under his ass. He could also see the outline of the gun he was holding.

Sai's eyes were restless, moving from Malcolm to the second man every couple of seconds, like she was watching some weird pingpong match that no one else was playing. Her hands were moving, but it was clear that her brain was otherwise occupied because she had already registered the same can of tomato soup three times.

It didn't take a skilled profiler to realize that he had just walked into a robbery.

By a poorly skilled robber, no less. Probably his first time holding up a store, from all the rookie mistakes Malcolm could see. For one, the man had not cased the store properly, missing out the fact that it was not empty and finding himself in the difficult position of having to control both the owner behind the counter and the costumer who had been caught unaware. Second, he had failed to secure the only way in and out of the store, turning the 'Closed' sign but forgetting to lock the door. Anyone could have walked in. Including a former FBI agent and current NYPD consultant.

From the way the man was vibrating with tense energy, Malcolm figured that things could turn ugly very fast. There was nothing worse than a stressed out, armed perp who felt like he had lost control over the situation. That was when mistakes happened. When people died.

“Hey, pal,” the man called out to Malcolm. “The store is closed. Didn't you see the sign?”

Malcolm could have walked out. Right there and then, he could have simply turn around, open the door and left. Once he was safely outside, all he had to do was pull out his phone and dial 911. It was the safe, smart thing to do.

The problem was that Malcolm had taken a one look at the robber and his over-inquiring mind had instinctively provided a profile on the armed man. He knew the man was on the edge, high strung by the situation, fingers too jittery to be trusted any where near a trigger. All those two women had to do was say the wrong thing, _sneeze_ at the wrong time, and that robbery would turn into a blood bath at the snap of two fingers.

Bright couldn't simply walk out on that. It would be the same as murdering those people himself.

Instead, he summoned his best look of confusion and took a step closer to counter. Just as long as the guy didn't pull out his gun, Malcolm was pretty sure he could take him out. “But the door was unlocked...” he pointed out. “I just need to grab a soda, real quick. Is that okay, ma'am?”

Bright resisted the urge to find Sai's eyes and try to silently convene some form of reassurance for the older woman. Despite the fact that she had no idea what Malcolm did for a living, the woman was currently too frightened and nervous to stop herself from giving his intentions away.

Malcolm looked at the robber instead, his head slight down so that their eyes wouldn't meet, shoulders hunched over. Very much like with all primates, it was a matter of letting the other know that he was in charge and Malcolm posed no threat to him.

The man's eyes lingered for a second too long, accessing him, weighting the possibilities. He couldn't insist for Malcolm to leave without showing his hand, so to speak. The charade would be up, the gun would be pulled out and the profiler would become a hostage just like the other two.

If the robber decided that Malcolm was no threat to him, that he was nothing more than a completely clueless costumer, than it was easier to just let him grab his soda, pay and leave, becoming one less problem for the armed man to deal with.

Malcolm knew perfectly well that he lacked an imposing figure. He wasn't particularly tall and the baggy clothes that he was wearing made him look skinnier than he actually was. Right now, the woman clutching her purse seemed more threatening than him, should she decide to use that bag as a weapon.

The robber must have reached the same conclusion, because the gun failed to make an appearance and his stance relaxed ever so slightly.

In the absence of a reply from Sai, Malcolm whispered a ' _thanks_ ' before making his way to the back aisle.

On average, human reaction speed was around 0.3 seconds; an experienced shooter could draw, cock and aim a gun in under 0.15 seconds, which gave a grand total of 0.45 seconds between Bright making his move and having a gun shoved in his face. He needed a bit more than half a second to get close to the robber and disarm him safely; Malcolm needed something to delay the man's reaction time considerably if he aspired to have any chance whatsoever to act.

There wasn't much that he could use in the deli's shelves as it didn't exactly came with a weapons aisle. Malcolm eyed the canned goods on display, trying to figure out his odds of throwing one and succeed in knocking the robber out before eating lead. No matter how good his aim was, knocking someone out at first try was surprisingly hard, so he wasn't finding those to be very appealing odds.

Figuring he was running out of time, Malcolm grabbed a random soda can and a some spray deodorant before rushing to the counter, shaking the soda as he went. “Sorry about that... you know how it is,” he pointed with a smile, holding out the two cans as if they were explanation enough. “You always end up picking up something else...”

Pretending to trip on thin air, Malcolm stumbled over his own feet, dropping the soda can. It hit the floor with a loud bang before rolling forward like a grenade, heading towards the armed man. The gas, trapped inside, took a disliking on all the stirring and jolting impact, and the can exploded in a shower of sugary water and corn syrup.

The woman standing in line screamed.

In the split second that the robber's attention was caught by the exploding soda, Malcolm made his move. He ran towards the man, discharging the deodorant the second he was in range. The aerosolized gas alone should do the trick, as the profiler was aiming for at least temporarily blinding the man.

A burst of 'Eucalyptus Spearmint' filled the air as the robber screamed out, his hands flying to cover his eyes a moment too late. “T'fuck!”

Malcolm wasted no time. With the robber's hands up in his face, the profiler took advantage of the exposed midriff and kicked the man in the stomach. The robber doubled over in pain, just in time to have his head grabbed by the hair and shoved hard against the metal counter. He was out even before hitting the floor.

The profiler took a deep breath as he looked at the unconscious robber. His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping widely into his veins, making his hands shake uncontrollably, eager to punch someone else. “You okay?” he asked the woman standing in line. At her tense nod, he turned his attention towards the store owner. “Sai, dial 911!”

The old woman was shaking as badly as he was, still frozen in place. “The-there's an--,” she let out, fear making her words faint and jumbled. “There's another!”

Too late.

Her warning had arrived too late.

As soon as her words registered, the profiler turned towards the closed door of the office, the only place where someone could have stayed out of sight. Sure enough, a second robber stood there, gun in his hands, staring in anger and fear between his unconscious partner and Malcolm.

A bang, louder than the soda can, filled the silent store.

Malcolm felt a powerful kick to his chest, stealing his breath away. He stumbled back and looked down, expecting to see a sledgehammer attached to his ribs. Instead, he saw a red stain, spreading fast, ravenously eating at the grey of his sweatshirt.

The hard floor rose to meet his falling body as his legs gave up on the effort of keeping him upright. His head banged against the hard floor like it was made of bricks, rattling his teeth and catching his lower lip. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Bright thought he should be in pain, but all he could really feel was cold numbness, the kind you feel when you lie on the snow for too long.

People were screaming at a distance.

Above him, the fluorescent light blinked and buzzed. It was too bright, too white. When a dark shadow stepped in front of it, Malcolm was almost thankful.

The shadow morphed into a man's shape, white teeth catching the light as he smiled down at him. The gun in his hands seemed impossibly large as he held it down, carefully aiming at the profiler's head.

A part of Bright knew that he should fight back, that he should do something about that gun in his face. But his body had checked out, put out the 'Out of order' sign, leaving him with no other choice but to accept his fate.

Malcolm suddenly remembered that he had left Sunshine out of her cage. He closed his eyes for a moment, And forgot to open them up again.


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

There was something very disturbingly wrong about having to work on a Saturday. But a commanding officer's work was never really done and if Gil didn't manage to get the precinct's rotation schedule ready and posted in the next couple of hours, the uniforms at the station were going to eat him alive. Plus, there was some sort of pluming issue with the second floor bathroom that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible.

The Lieutenant looked out the window of his office. JT was rubbing the back of his neck, looking at the pile of paper by his side like he was considering grabbing some C4 to blow it up and Dani was currently taking a break from filling forms by turning them into pointy-nosed planes who's destination was the trash can on the other side of the bullpen. Or the nearby floor. Mostly the nearby floor.

Gil looked at the opened file on his computer, the words blurring into black smudges of numbers and names. He rubbed his eyes, deciding that he needed coffee rather than corrective lenses.

“Boss, please tell me there's a murder to solve!” JT whined as soon as he spotted the Lieutenant outside his office.

Gil smiled. “Careful, JT,” he warned. “You're starting to sound an awful lot like Bright,” he added with a wink.

“Well, at least he got to stay home today,” Dani let out, trying very hard not to pout. “Although, I doubt he's enjoying it...”

“Yeah...dude probably has a police scanner by his side right now,” JT offered with a smirk. “The second someone commits a crime, he'll be running out the door!”

“I think that's Spiderman you're thinking of,” Dani offered with a smile.

“No, I'm pretty sure thats a Batman thing,” Gil pointed out, the serious look on his face hiding how amusing he found that silly discussion to be. “You two done with that yet?” he asked, because after all the hard work they had put in the last weeks, it was giving him no pleasure to keep the two detectives in there. They deserved their rest...after every form was completed and submitted so that the perp would have no excuse to escape the law. It was a vital part of their job, as important as catching the bad guys.

Before JT or Dani could offer a reply, a young uniformed man rushed to their side. He looked at the same time flushed and white as ghost, which was an impressive look to pull off. “Sir?” he wheezed out.

Gil turned around, a smile still playing on his lips. “Yeah, son? What is it?” Any playfulness or joy he might have been feeling just melted away as the Lieutenant caught the kid's expression. “What's wrong?”

The officer, Mathews as his name tag announced, cleared his throat, sparing a quick glance at the two detectives before opening his mouth. “Dispatch just called in a 10-65 at a deli in Kenmare Street. One DOD and two more injured. A unit has already responded, as well as a bus.”

“Armed robbery? Why is that Major Crimes business?” JT questioned, already seeing his downtime disappear into a puff of smoke.

Gil looked at Dani, finding the same dreadful conclusions in her eyes. The street name was very familiar to them.

“Wait—what am I missing here?” the sharp eyed detective asked, their looks not going unnoticed. “Shit...that's Bright's street, ain't it?” he guessed. Because why the heck not?!

The young officer nodded. “They ID-ed one of the victims as Malcolm Bright,” he confirmed. “Dispatch figured that, since he's one of our own, you'd want to deal with this personally.”

“Damn straight we are! Tell dispatch we're taking this one,” Gil ordered, already making his way outside.

~*~

The ambulance was already gone by the time they reached the scene, but there was a Coroner's van parked close by. Gil's heart clenched inside his chest, until it was nothing more than a sharp pinprick of pure pain.

He had tried to reach Malcolm's cell phone from the car, but it kept going directly to voicemail. It didn't mean a thing, of course. It could have been broken during the robbery, placed inside an evidence bag, or simply out of battery.

As soon as he stepped in to the street, Gil could see how close it was to the kid's home. He could easily spot Bright's big bedroom window from the crime scene.

He was sweating copiously by the time they had reached the deli's opened door. Inside, Gil could see an older woman sitting down in front of two officers, talking quietly in between taking small sips from the glass of water in her hands. There was a second woman, crying convulsively into her hands, as one of the EMTs tried to check her out. Both women seemed relatively unharmed.

On the floor, near the counter, there were two large smears of red, a splash of spilled drink and foam. And a black body bag.

He couldn't see Malcolm anywhere. Gil felt himself slowly leave his body.

Standing by his side, he could see the pallor taking over Dani's face and the way JT's scowl was frightening everyone that walked pass them. They too had noticed the absence of the profiler. “What do we have here?” Gil found himself asking, because that was what his body was used to do, even though his mind had checked out.

An uniformed officer stooped short of saluting him, probably not used to have such high brass on a simple robbery. “Two armed perps, as far as the eyewitnesses tell us. The owner has video security, but she doesn't record it,” the man reported with a shrug.

“Who's the DOD?” JT asked, his voice lacking its usual strength.

The cop checked his notes, unaware of the three sets of hearts that stopped beating until he spoke. “One of the perps...no ID on him and his partner wasn't talking much when they drove him to the hospital. Apparently, Mrs--” he stopped, searching the name on his notes. “Miss Kimberly over there,” he pointed at the younger, crying woman, “decided to pummel the perp's head with her bag until he stopped breathing. I don't know what she had in there, but that man's skull was...not pretty” he added with a shudder.

Gil let out a breath he had been holding prisoner inside his chest, even as his eyes kept darting to the two sets of blood spilled on the white floor. One surely belonged to the dead perp, which left puddle number two. “And the other civilian injured? Malcolm Bright,” he asked, JT and Dani standing close by.

“Bright...” the policeman went through his notes once again. “Yes, that would be the GSW to the chest, already on route to the hospital,” the officer supplied. “Both witnesses are saying that the guy saved their lives. He knocked down the first perp before being surprised by the second.”

To be honest with himself, Gil didn't hear much after the words 'GSW to the chest'. “Wh—Which hospital?” he asked faintly. His legs felt suddenly unsteady, like the floor had turned to cotton.

~*~

Gil followed the nurse into the private room above the OR. Usually they didn't allowed family members up there, but for once, Gil had made use of his badge and flat out lied about how close he was to the man currently in surgery.

He couldn't see much of Malcolm other than his face, eyes tapped down while a tube snuck past the profiler's lips. Thankfully, he couldn't see anything of what was happening from the kid's neck below, just a lot of blue clothes and metallic instruments changing hands. And blood. There was too much of that covering every surface.

He didn't understood much of what was going on the monitors surrounding the operating table, but there weren't any red lights flashing or intense beeping happening, so the Lieutenant figured that was a good sign. One he would take.

He should call JT and Dani, who he had left behind at the crime scene, to let them know that Malcolm was still alive. He should definitely call Jessica, even though Gil was pretty sure that the kid wouldn't want his mother to know anything until he was out of the woods. And even after, Bright would probably try and keep it quiet.

Learning that Malcolm had been shot in the chest had been hard to hear. As a police officer, Gil knew what something like that didn't usually bode well. He had lost too many of his men and women to wounds like that.

It wasn't like any sort of gunshot wound was a walk in the park. He himself had once been shot in the leg and, while his life had not been at risk, the damn thing had kept him in the sidelines for _months_. In the really cold days, he could still feel it twinge.

Malcolm had gotten himself shot in the chest. In a grocery store. On his day off.

It was the absolute randomness of it all that scared the crap out of Gil. The job had risks of its own, and Lord knew that Malcolm tried to take all the risks to himself, but when he was with the team, they could at least try to protect him.

But how could Gil protect him or any other member of is team when they left the precinct and went out to live their own lives? They dealt with a violent and ruthless world on a daily basis and still that was something the would forever keep the Lieutenant sleepless at night.

Of course, out of all of them, Malcolm seemed to be the one who attracted more trouble than anyone Gil had ever seen. He was worse than metal and magnets. Of all the grocery stores in Lower Manhattan, the kid had to walk into the _exact_ one that was being robbed in that _exact_ moment. And who the hell robs a store in broad day light, anyway?

That Malcolm had decided to play the hero wasn't even the part that had surprised the Lieutenant. The kid had one hell of a complex about letting people die on his watch, so it was sadly predictable that, after walking into a situation like that, Malcolm would try to fix things. It was just plain bad luck that one of the perps gotten a jump on him.

Gill looked at the big digital watch inside the OR. Two hours since they had started.

It was impossible to read the faces of the doctors and nurses surrounding Malcolm. For one, half their faces were covered by masks, and nothing in their movements gave away how bad the situation was. All that Gil knew was that the bullet had managed to miss the kid's heart, but there was still so much damage it could do in such a delicate area...

But as far as he was alive, there was hope.

~*~

Dani sat beside Bright's bed. It was becoming a recurrent thing between the two of them. The trend had started days after they had met each other and hadn't stopped haunting her for every single day since the profiler had come into her life. It was never nice, it was never restful. Every single time, her stomach just churned and twisted, like a volcano ready to erupt. She hated it.

Shortly after meeting him, Dani had sat beside Bright's bed at his place, watching him attempt to restrain himself, half drunk, half drugged, completely open and vulnerable. It had filled her with anger how someone could be that trusting and naive with someone he had just met. She couldn't do that. She would never do something like that.

The second time, he hadn't been drunk, but he had drugged. High as a kite. Stoned out of his gourd. And again, vulnerable. Because he had trusted her.

As she looked at his sleeping form now, bandages hidden beneath the hospital blue blanket that covered him up to his neck, he didn't looked as vulnerable to her as before. She could finally see the strength hidden beneath the surface, the sheer stubbornness of doing the right thing despite the odds.

It was something that she would never admit out loud in his presence, in fear of encouraging his borderline suicidal, insane plans, but Bright had saved those two women with nothing more than a soda and a can of deodorant. That had been so badass that even JT had been impressed.

Gil kept saying that Malcolm was one of them. Dani had never doubted the Lieutenant's words, but now she could see it for herself. Bright didn't carried a badge like them, but he served and protected just the same.

“You're thinking so loud the whole hospital can hear you,” Malcolm whispered, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

Dani looked up from where her fingers had been playing with edge of the profiler's hand on the bed. His eyes were barely opened, but there was a mischievous smile upon his lips.

“You're awake,” she registered, pulling her hand away from the bed. “Do you want me to call someone?”

Gil had just stepped outside, gone to fetch Mrs. Whitly from the lobby. They should be there soon, just in time for Powell to make her silent retreat. But in the mean time, she was all that Malcolm had.

  
“I've been awake for some time now,” Malcolm confessed, trying to adjust his position on the bed. He winced as the wiggling disturbed his wound. “Trying to figure out why I'm alive,” he confessed, closing his eyes as he gathered his memories. “Last thing I remember was this guy aiming his gun at my face...and yet, I'm still here.”

Dani pursed her lips. “You'll have to thank _Miss Kimberly_ for that,” she informed him. At Malcolm's look of utterly confusion, she explained. “She was the young woman at the store. When she saw you down and about to be killed, she bludgeoned the robber to death with her handbag.”

Malcolm stared at her, half impressed, half terrified. “With her _handbag_?”

The detective smiled sadly. While it had been deemed self-defense and the woman had their gratitude for keeping the profiler alive, she would still have to live with the memory of what had happened for the rest of her life. “Yeah...she confessed to have stolen a bottle from the store. She had it hidden inside her bag. Gave it an extra...kick.”

Bright sighed, probably blaming himself for that as well. “And Sai?”

Powell looked lost for a bit, until she realized who he was talking about. “The owner? She was a bit shaken, but otherwise unharmed,” Dani reassured him. “You're her hero now...I don't think you'll have to buy any groceries for the rest of your life,” she added with a smile. “Or Miss Kimberly, for that matter.”

Malcolm followed her smile, his a bit more loopy on account of all the good drugs that were probably flooding his system at the moment. It didn't last, as he suddenly sprung upright on the bed, his hand flying to his chest as the foolish move disturbed his stitches. “Shit...” he hissed, breathing through the pain.

Dani could only stare as the heavy bandages came into view. She preferred when they were hidden beneath the covers. Seeing how bulky and blood stained they were only served to remind her how close the profiler had been from dying. “ _What the hell_ , Bright?!”

“Sorry,” Malcolm whispered out of breath, as if his pain was something that was offensive to her. From her tone of voice, he might not be completely wrong. “I just remember...Sunshine was out of her cage when I left--this morning?” he asked, not quite sure what day it was. “Someone needs to check on her.”

The detective rolled her eyes. Trust the guy who had just woken from surgery after being shot to worry about his bird. “Yes, this morning...and she is fine,” Dani assured him, having personally paid a visit to the loft. “That bird as more brains in her than you do.”

The profiler leaned back down, gladly accepting the helping hand that Dani offered silently. He sighed in relief as his head hit the pillow. “She was a gift, you know?”

Dani adjusted the covers, careful to hide the damage from view. “Yeah?”

“Yeah...” he said, eyes dropping close. “' _A little Sun..._ '” he whispered, drifting off to asleep.

“' _A little Sunshine in your life_ '” Gil completed, his eyes suspiciously wet as he stood in the doorway. Jessica Whitly was behind him, in the corridor, talking quietly with Malcolm's doctor. “Jackie said that, when we took that bird to his place,” the Lieutenant explained. “He had been so afraid that he might cause her some harm, certain that he would fail to keep her alive, that he would not be enough...”

“But he didn't,” Dani pointed out. “And he was.”

Gil smiled sadly. “Yeah...he was. And eventually he'll even believe it. One day.”


End file.
